The Ethical Hooker

Hey there, sweetheart. How are you feeling these days? No, how are you really feeling? Sit with the question without popping off some bullshit answer. I don’t care one bit about the surface you—you in costume. Please, I offer, go inside and let the answer come to you like an old friend, like something you can trust, and from someone who knows you well. That’s better. I can see you now.

So I’ll ask you another way: Is your life everything you’d hoped it would be or is there something else? Do you even know who you are anymore or what you really want?

I passed by a mirror the other day. I was startled by my reflection. Wow. What a beautiful woman I’ve become. I did a double take and then a triple. On the third I just stayed with myself. I went back to my reflection and studied, really observed with a detached eye-as removed from myself as possible—and spoke into the steel-blue eyes looking back at me.

“Baby, I know you didn’t expect your life to turn out like this: almost 42, four-significant, failed relationships, single, alone, and raising two kids-1/2 time, working two jobs and doing slightly better than just getting by. By hey, at least you still have your looks.”

I had to laugh at myself. Talk about feeling pathetic.

(On April Fool’s Day Someone broke into my fit-bit account and changed my profile picture to a cartoon of a woman with a gleam of a smile and a caption above that read: Gold Digger, Like a Hooker but Smarter. I was shocked but now looking back I take it as a compliment. Everyone knows that the primary qualifier of a Gold Digger is that he or she has to be good-looking. There has to be a currency to barter for the trade off–the unspoken agreement, the silent-mutual contract. So yeah, I’ll take ownership of the label, but damn, I’m not doing a good job at cashing in on all this attractiveness.)

But seriously, when I held my own captive audience in the mirror, and laughed at myself, I honestly thought it absurd that a woman with my smarts, charm and sensuous appearance hasn’t, (yet) been able to keep a relationship together. I take that back. I was in a marriage once that could’ve and would’ve lasted as long as I pleased, but I wasn’t in it for the right reasons. Perhaps one could say I was an unconscious, ethical opportunist with a low self-esteem, when I married. Sure. I’ll own that one, straight out. But I didn’t go into it thinking I need to marry someone for money, I went into it BELIEVING I needed someone to take care of me, that I couldn’t take care of myself. What a scam I pulled on myself, that’s the sad part.

However, it was also a very logical decision to have children with someone who can afford the costs of raising them, who’s a stand-up guy-though he can be his own version of an asshole— different from my assholery—mine is probably worse, and with someone who wanted to be a father and play a big role in raising his children. I think I chose well.

I talked to friend today who told me that he once heard the rapper, turned actor, Ice-T say in an interview something along the lines of, “Everyone falls into one category: you’re either a pimp or a ho.”

I see myself as both.

My friend had suggested that I do some journaling and right-brain/left-brain exercises. I took his suggestion and shared my findings.

I told him, “ My right-brain suggested to my left-brain that I become a hooker.”

We laughed.

He recommended the thinking game because I’m finding myself again at this cyclical place in my life, one where I’m not making enough money to be fully self-supporting, which always leaves me asking myself what I should do next. The answer is always, “Go back to school.” I mean what if I went back to school and got my degree in creative writing, “Mom, look at me now, no hands!” Imagine how good I would be at this craft? But here’s the problem, the same problem, the money. How can I afford to go back to school and finish my degree?

I can’t afford to pay out of pocket and I can’t get any more loans or student aid/grants until I complete a certain amount of hours. It’s a catch twenty-two for this forty-niner.

The brain exercise was to see what I wanted to do and how I could go about doing it. My left way of thinking recommended using my looks as a way to make money. Things may have gotten carried away, however, it should help me, again, as part of the agreement or barter.

One of my other friends told me (during our conversation about the possibility of creating an on-line dating profile) that I have nice curb appeal. Looking good on the outside—my shell–like having an attractive profile-pic instantly draws a crowd.

But ugh and sigh.

And fuck and shit.

I don’t want to do the same thing I’ve always done. That will just get me the same result I’ve always gotten: people who like me—at first glance–based on my charm and manipulation, and jobs that aren’t challenging enough for all this (pan to hands circling my head). It takes a lot to keep me interested and motivated.

So when I ask myself, Beloved, how are you feeling? I answer,

I want more for myself.

I want to change.

My looks (I know I sound like an arrogant asshole, but ya’ll know I don’t think I’m THAT hot, but it’s just an undeniable truth that I am attractive. That doesn’t mean I’m the best, or most beautiful but that I’m not hard to look at either.)

As I was saying, my looks will be with me for years to come, and according to my daughter who told my son when he said, “Mom, a tattoo won’t look good on you when you’re old.” To which she replied, “Brother, our mom will ALWAYS look good.”

But I want to be more than just my surface layer. It’s too easy. I’ve got to give up my bloodsucking ways and possibly suck it up to get what I really want: an education.

I may have to drop this false-ego-pride and cover up my bounty with a god-awful uniform and go work somewhere that provides tuition assistance. The body may be a terrible thing to waste, but not when the mind is craving its debut.

Oh just fuck me now. The thought of pimping myself out to—wearing a uniform or something similar–just to get an education is killing me softly. But a girl has to do what a girl has to do, even if that means giving up my relationship with ho’in—vanity.

I’m putting to rest, my reliance on my costume, it will only take me so far. And this is what humility looks like: giving up the idea of what’s important for something of real value-my inner life.

The same holds true for personal life as well. I have to give up my cover. I can’t expect for someone to show up for me and bring out my best if I can’t do that for myself first. And all my game playing—as fun as it may be—is not my best.

And I want my best. I want to see myself, all of me. And I want the same for you.

So whether you’re a pimp-daddy or a hookin-momma, or both, just keep it real.

Sending out all the love to your mommer and them, thanks for reading.

Big love over here,

SJ

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About monocurious

I'm like air, forever flowing, moving, changing, gaining and losing myself, undefinable. View my complete profile
This entry was posted in Airing Grievances, and Hookers, Cos Play, Creative Writing, Education, Ethical Hooker, forty-niner, Gold Digger, Left brain, Pimps, Right brain, The Ethical Slut, The Happy Hooker, Vanity and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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